As I led the delegation from the deafening roar of the factory deck to the relative quiet of the study, a realization settled on me with the weight of a MECH. I was a warlord, a scientist, and apparently, now a diplomat. The sheer number of meetings I saw stretching out into my future was a terrifying prospect. I needed a Foreign Minister.

  My mind flickered to my mother. She had always handled the intricate web of court politics for House Wight with a grace that made my father’s blunt military approach seem like a sledgehammer. But then I caught myself. My mother is really getting into my head, I thought with a wry internal smile. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up engaged before the next moon.

  I made a mental note: Tes, prioritize creating a Diplomatic Corps curriculum at the Aegis Academy. I need smooth talkers, and I needed them yesterday.

  We arrived at the study. It was a glorified conference room, hastily prepared for this occasion, but it served its purpose. The walls were lined with holographic maps of the continent, and the central table was a polished black slab that doubled as a tactical display.

  Duke Morpheus Black took a seat at the far end, his shadowed robes blending into the dim lighting. Beside him, Nyxia sat with a rigid posture, her crimson eyes scanning the room for hidden threats. At the opposite end sat Master Aldric and Ambassador Hedric, their sturdy frames looking somewhat out of place in the sleek, minimalist room. Their attendants waited outside, a mix of curious dwarves and gnomes.

  An awkward silence descended, thick enough to cut with a blade. I knew they were all bound by the Neutrality Pact of Dragon Valley—a magical contract woven into their very mana signatures. If they betrayed the secrets they saw here, the magic would turn inward, a slow, agonizing mana poison. It was the Dragon Kings' way of ensuring that their treaties remained inviolate.

  I broke the silence, my voice calm. “So, gentlemen. Let us dispense with the pleasantries. What is it that you want from me?”

  The dwarves glanced at Morpheus, a silent plea in their eyes. They wanted him to go first, hoping his request would buy them time to formulate a counteroffer now that their main bargaining chip—their superior craftsmanship—had been tossed out the airlock.

  I appreciated the dwarves. They were a simple people in the best way possible. They wore their emotions on their sleeves, or rather, on their bearded faces. If they hated something, they scowled. If they wanted something, they asked. They lacked the exhausting layers of deception that humans and elves wrapped themselves in. Dragons were similar in that regard—prideful, direct, and honest about their desires.

  Speaking of dragons, Kaelus had suspiciously vanished again. My bond-sense told me he was currently engaging in high-stakes diplomacy with a five-year-old. Just yesterday, I had walked in on him attending a tea party with Lyra and three plush toys. It was easy to forget, amidst the cosmic power and the world-ending threats, that he was still just a child. I resolved to play with him later. Maybe we could blow something up together.

  Morpheus Black cleared his throat, his voice smooth and dark like aged wine. “What I want is simple, Lord Wight. I wish to restore the old order. To see Aerthos free from the suffocating grip of the Cinderfall Hegemony.” He paused, his gaze flickering briefly to Nyxia, then back to me. “My other request is… personal. And best discussed with the Lord of House Wight alone.”

  I suppressed a smile. Perfect. He still didn’t know.

  “That can be arranged,” I said. “But first, let us hear from our guests from the north.”

  I turned to the dwarves. Ambassador Hedric shifted in his seat, clearly unhappy about discussing high-stakes treason in front of the Hegemony’s spymaster, but he swallowed his pride.

  “We seek freedom,” Hedric rumbled, his voice heavy with centuries of frustration. “For a thousand years, Khaz'Modan has been the armory of the world. We labor in the deep dark to produce swords for Cinderfall, shields for Lumina. We are slaves to their whims, funding their endless wars while our own culture stagnates.”

  He leaned forward, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “We are craftsmen, Lord Wight. We yearn to build. To create. Our ancestors built wonders—cities of gold, machines of clockwork. But now? Now we make armor plating. We make rivets for airships. We want to build to our hearts’ content, not just what the warmongers demand.”

  Master Aldric nodded vigorously. “Your technology… it represents a new path. A way to break the cycle. But you said you do not need our hands.” He looked defeated, and a master smith told him his hammer was useless.

  I raised a hand. “You misunderstood me, Ambassador. I said I do not need craftsmen for weapons manufacturing. Weapons are tools of death; they do not require a soul. A machine can build a weapon better than any dwarf because a weapon does not need love. It needs precision.”

  I tapped the table, and the holographic display shifted. Gone were the schematics of MECHs and warships. In their place appeared renderings of a different kind.

  Sleek, magitech-powered personal transport vehicles—sports cars that hovered on gravitic cushions. Exquisitely crafted homes that blended dwarven stone-work with my own modern aesthetics. Everyday items—watches, furniture, tools—are infused with minor enchantments that improve the quality of life.

  “But there are things that machines cannot replicate,” I said softly. “Luxury. Art. Soul. A machine can stamp out a million spoons, but it cannot carve a single one that feels perfect in the hand. A machine can build a house, but it cannot make it a home.”

  The dwarves stared at the images, their eyes widening with a hunger that had nothing to do with greed and everything to do with creation.

  “I need the dwarves to build the things that make life worth living,” I continued. “My factories will churn out the legions. But my people… and the people of this new world we are building… they will need more than just weapons. They will need beauty. They will need the touch of a master craftsman.”

  I leaned back. “Furthermore, my machines are efficient, but they break. I need a maintenance corps. Who better to understand the heart of a machine than the children of the stone?”

  “And,” I added, the pragmatist returning, “I need raw materials. Khaz'Modan sits on the largest mineral deposits in the known world. I need your ore, and I need it in quantities that would make a king faint.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  The offer hung in the air.

  “My proposal is simple,” I said. “A mutual defense pact. I offer you the freedom to build whatever you desire. Your people can join my armies as engineers and maintenance crews, learning the secrets of this new age. We will establish free trade and open borders between Khaz'Modan and the new nation I am forging. And eventually, when trust has been earned… I will provide you with my machines of war. Perhaps even teach you how to build them.”

  The dwarven delegation was gobsmacked. It was an offer too good to be true, a dream of liberation handed to them on a silver platter. But the underlying cost was clear: they would have to stand against their current overlords. They would have to declare war on the status quo.

  “An attack on one is an attack on all,” Hedric murmured, testing the words. “It is… lucrative. But dangerous. If you fail, Lord Wight, Khaz'Modan will be crushed.”

  “Take your time,” I said. “I do not yet have a proper nation to sign a treaty with. But the storm is coming. You must decide which side of the wall you want to be on when it hits.”

  Hedric nodded slowly. “We will take this to the High King. We will deliberate.”

  The dwarves rose, bowing deeply—a gesture of respect they rarely afforded to humans. As they filed out of the room, Master Aldric lingered for a moment, giving me a gruff nod and a wink before following his kin.

  Nyxia stood to leave as well, but her father’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grasping her wrist.

  “Sit, daughter,” Morpheus said, his voice quiet. “This concerns you as well.”

  Nyxia hesitated, then sat back down, her crimson eyes darting between her father and me.

  I tapped the console again. The holographic display vanished. The room felt suddenly smaller, more intimate.

  …

  “So,” I said, looking at the Spymaster, my fingers resting lightly on the cold surface of the conference table. “You wanted to speak with the Lord of House Wight alone. About a personal matter.”

  Morpheus Black nodded, his movements measured and deliberate. He reached into the folds of his shadow-woven robe and pulled out a small, sealed scroll. The black wax seal bore the sigil of his house, an obsidian tower beneath a constellation of stars.

  “I have served the Hegemony because I had no choice,” he began, his voice low. “A man does what he must to ensure his family survives the winter. But my loyalty… that has always belonged to the memory of your father. To the bond our houses shared before the world burned.”

  He pushed the scroll across the table. It slid silently on the glass surface, coming to rest before me. “This is a list. Every Hegemony agent is embedded in the Dominion. Every compromised supply line. Every bribe paid to a minor lord to look the other way. It is the key to dismantling their intelligence network from the inside out.”

  I took the scroll, weighing it in my hand. It was light, but the information within could topple governments. “You give this freely?”

  “I give it as a down payment,” Morpheus said, meeting my gaze with unflinching crimson eyes. “On a future where my daughter does not have to marry that golden fool.”

  I smiled. It was time.

  “Morpheus,” I said softly. “I think there is someone you need to meet.”

  I tapped a different command into the console. The wall behind me shimmered. It wasn't a hologram this time. It was a door, sliding open with a soft hiss to reveal the private lounge adjoining the study.

  Standing there, his signature dragonbone blade strapped to his waist and a goblet of wine in his hand, looking very much alive, was Kaelen Wight.

  Morpheus Black, the man who knew every secret in the kingdom, the man who was never surprised, froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, a jarring noise in the quiet room.

  “Hello, old friend,” my father said, stepping into the room with a grin that took ten years off his face.

  “Kaelen…” Morpheus whispered, his voice cracking. He took a hesitant step forward, as if testing the reality of the image before him. “You… you’re dead. I saw the reports. The scrying… the ash… the ruin of your home…”

  “Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated,” my father laughed, a warm, booming sound that filled the room. “Though I admit, the nap was longer than I intended.”

  Morpheus stared at him, then at me, then back at my father. A laugh, shaky and incredulous, bubbled up from his chest. He shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair.

  “You played me,” he said, his laughter growing stronger, tinged with relief and disbelief. He looked at my father, a genuine smile breaking through his usual stoicism. “You really do have a fine son there, Kaelen. His strategic mind… it may even rival mine. To hide a king in plain sight while the world mourns him… brilliant.”

  “I had good teachers,” I said dryly.

  Before the moment could settle, the door behind my father opened again. My mother walked in, radiant as ever, with Lyra trailing behind her, dragging a resigned Kaelus who was being carried like a plush toy.

  “Lady Wight,” Morpheus breathed, bowing deeply. “It appears the surprises are not ending. Back in old Aerthos, the only one whose political acumen rivaled yours was… well, yourself.”

  My mother smiled warmly. “It is good to see you, Morpheus. Though I must say, you look tired. Have you been eating well?”

  “As well as one can on a diet of secrets and poison,” Morpheus replied, a hint of his old wit returning.

  My father clapped Morpheus on the shoulder, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “Now that the reunion is done, old friend, what is this personal request you have for my son? You mentioned a matter for the Lord of House Wight alone.”

  Morpheus’s expression shifted. The relief faded, replaced by the weight of centuries of tradition and political maneuvering. He straightened, becoming the Patriarch of House Black once more.

  “From the founding of our nation,” Morpheus began, his voice taking on a formal cadence, “the Council of Elders of House Black has opposed a union between our two houses. They believed the Patriarchs of House Wight embodied aspects not favored by them—too much fire, too little shadow. Too much honor, too little pragmatism.”

  He paused, glancing at me. “In House Black, whenever a mage reaches Tier 8 by creating a Mage Tower, their lifespan extends. They join the Council of Elders, the true power behind the throne of shadows. They are old, Kaelen. Ancient. And they are cautious.”

  “Cinderfall has been pushing,” he continued. “And after your son’s… display of power… the Council is terrified. They want to pick a side. They do not want to be in limbo when the titans clash. They prefer Aerthos be restored, yes, but they need certainty. And in this world, no other bond is more politically sound than a marriage.”

  He took a breath. “The Council wants me to either completely commit to Cinderfall, to bind our fate to theirs… or to bind the young Alarion and House Wight to us.”

  He looked at my father, then at me. “But for the first time in history, the Council approves of the heir of House Wight. They look at you, Alarion, and they see a mind that understands the shadows as well as the light. From the founding of Aerthos, it was our goal to unite the two houses and crown a King and Queen. It is finally time, old friend. Our generation is the one.”

  Morpheus turned to me, his gaze intense. “I offer a marriage to my daughter, Nyxia.”

  The statement hit me from left field. Another one? Why was everyone after my marital status today?

  My mother clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with joy. “Oh, how wonderful! A true union of our houses! And Nyxia is such a lovely girl!”

  Nyxia, who had been sitting in stunned silence, turned a shade of red that rivaled her crimson eyes. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. This, it appeared, came as a shock to her as well. Perhaps she wouldn't have even arranged this meeting if she had known her father’s intent.

  Before the parents could continue their enthusiastic planning of our futures, I spoke up, my voice cutting through the celebratory atmosphere.

  “Wait a minute. I never agreed to this.”

  To my surprise, another voice spoke at the same time, saying the same thing.

  “Wait a minute. I never agreed to this.”

  Nyxia and I stared at each other across the table, united for the first time in perfect, horrified sync.